


A Study to Determine the Cause of an Unexpected Reaction to Ordinary Events

by galacticmint



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: AND the fourth chapter sorry i promise there will be a happy ending, M/M, mentioned dorothea having a crush on petra, mentioned edelgard having a crush on byleth, slight angst sneaks into the third chapter sorry?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-28
Updated: 2019-08-31
Packaged: 2020-09-28 14:09:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20427251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/galacticmint/pseuds/galacticmint
Summary: In an unexpected moment, Linhardt notices Caspar blushing. Instead of asking him about it, like a normal person, he decides to run a series of tests to find out the cause.





	1. Hypothesis

**Author's Note:**

> My first try at a multichapter fic for this fandom! I have the various chapters outlined and planned, so I hope to get them up pretty soon.

The dining hall was loud and crowded. An absolute nightmare of a place. Linhardt sat unhappily squashed between Dorothea and Caspar, eyelids drooping and chin cushioned on his hand. He’d eaten… half, maybe, of his portion of the meal, but eating suddenly seemed to be so much effort. Choosing and cutting each bite, lifting it to his mouth, chewing, and then eurgh, the swallowing… His jaw ached at the thought. No, he was done for the night. 

To his right Caspar leaned into him, chattering about some strength-building strategy he’d learned from one of his new classmates. Not someone Linhardt knew, yet. Someone in another class? He was apparently having no such issues with the concept of eating, shoveling food into his mouth with glee as he spoke. Some of it dripped out of the corner of his mouth, and Linhardt felt himself scowl at the sight. Caspar being a messy eater wasn’t new, but it never seemed to get any less annoying. 

"I'm like _twice_ as hungry since we got here," Caspar was saying, "I guess it's 'cause we're working so hard? You gonna finish that?" He pointed with his fork at Linhardt's plate.

“You’re making a mess,” Linhardt told him with a long sigh instead of answering, and to his credit Caspar at least fumbled for a napkin instead of ignoring him. Any goodwill he gained from that, however, vanished when, unable to find one, he gave up and instead dashed the back of his hand across his mouth, smearing half the mess and totally missing the rest.

“No, a little to the left… oh, here,” Linhardt said, sighing and levering himself from where he was leaning on the table to sit up fully. At this height he towered over his friend, but he was used to that. He found his own napkin easily and reached over to wipe at the mess on Caspar’s chin. 

Caspar turned his gaze up to him in a wide eyed stare, jaw going slack as Linhardt fussed over him. Then, just as Linhardt lowered the napkin, he flushed bright red, jolting away with a yelp and knocking Bernadetta off the edge of the bench. Bernadetta, of course, immediately burst into tears, curling into a ball on the flagstone floor with her hands over her head.

Linhardt supposed he should be annoyed. The thing about Caspar was that he was a known factor, fully understood and entirely reliable. Even the things that caused others to consider him a wildcard made perfect sense to Linhardt. He didn’t always agree with them, but he always understood him. And that was all that really mattered. It was enough to make Caspar the least exhausting person to hang out with that Linhardt had ever met. He’d assumed it would always stay that way; had counted on it, in fact. 

This reaction, though? He didn’t understand that at all. Could Caspar have been changing all this time, when Linhardt wasn’t paying attention?

Caspar leaped off the bench to try to comfort Bernadetta, and Dorothea rushed to try to help as well, the general noise level at their table rising from ‘uncomfortable’ to ‘unbearable’. Linhardt folded his napkin, laid it next to his half cleared plate, and disentangled himself from the bench. 

He needed to think, and for that he needed silence and space. 

…

The library was empty, which was his favorite state for the library to be in. Linhardt approached his favorite table, selected in his first week and undisturbed since then, remaining a mess of books on ancient history and crest methodology. All were fascinating, and he intended to return to them as soon as possible, but right now he had a new mystery to solve. He cleared a small section of the tabletop, chose a new blank notebook, and retrieved his favorite pen from his bag. 

So.

Caspar. Blushing.

That was a physical reaction. But what did it mean? Surprise? Embarrassment? Discomfort?

Linhardt thought he understood Caspar head to toe (not that there was much of him to understand) and yet the answer to this eluded him. He frowned and smoothed the paper flat, gazing at the far wall across the dim library. He must hypothesize.

  1. _ Caspar was surprised that I would take care of him in such a way._

This seemed unlikely. Linhardt had always taken care of Caspar, in his own sleepy roundabout way, and Caspar had always taken care of him. Surely Caspar would not have expected this to change just because they were at school together. There was no reason for it to do so. He crossed the line of text out, shaking his head.

  1. _ Caspar was embarrassed to be taken care of in front of our classmates._

Hm. Not entirely ridiculous. Caspar was fiercely proud, not in the way most nobles were, about stupid things like wealth or style, but of his own capabilities. He’d always been this way. And this Linhardt understood; he’d always lived in the shadow of his brother, who was taller, stronger, and stood to inherit essentially everything the Bergliez family owned. Linhardt had often envied Caspar’s freedom in being left to his own devices, but he also understood that Caspar had learned to take care of himself in a way he himself had never had to. He didn’t like this hypothesis, but it was… possible, at least.

There was another possibility, however. Linhardt lifted his pen, laid it down on the page, and picked it up again. Then, holding his breath, he wrote on the next line,

  1. _ Caspar is attracted to me._

He put the pen down. Unlikely, but not impossible. They were at an age where ill advised crushes were commonplace. Still, even just writing it made his heart rate pick up, and he decided his second guess seemed far more likely. He folded his hands beneath his chin, thinking the situation over. 

One way or another, he had to know. Asking would be far too bothersome, and honestly, he didn’t want to admit that there was something he was missing about Caspar. This would be a proper experiment. He’d devise some tests, come up with standard parameters, and record the outcome. In no time at all he’d understand the reasoning behind Caspar’s blush, and then everything would make sense again.

He couldn’t wait to get started. 


	2. First Test

The first and most likely of Linhardt’s hypotheses (or at least, the only one that didn’t make his cheeks burn to think about) was that Caspar was embarrassed to need assistance. Or at least, he hoped it was that, and not that he was embarrassed by their friendship altogether-- but that didn’t seem like Caspar at all. So, assuming that was a possibility, he needed to pay close attention to Caspar’s general demeanor when he assisted him with things in front of their classmates.

It was unfortunate that he would have to run the risk of embarrassing him to do so, but sacrifices had to be made in the pursuit of knowledge. He was sure Caspar would understand once this was all over and he explained his reasons.

His pen scratched at the paper as he considered his options, but the adrenaline from Caspar’s unpredictable reaction was ebbing away. The knowledge of the cause seemed securely within reach now, and all he had to do was to go looking for it… maybe tomorrow…

Eyelids drooping, Linhardt gave himself permission to take a quick nap before getting back to work. It’s not like there was a time limit. He’d figure this out, sooner or later.

He cushioned his head on his arms and let his eyes fall closed, aided by the hush and dim light of the library in slipping away to sleep.

…

“There you are!”

Linhardt swam to consciousness with a rush of annoyance, roused by a voice as bright as stabbing rays of sunshine. He cracked open his eyes with much effort, turning his head to see a familiar sight.

Caspar, seated in the chair next to him, beaming ear to ear with a smile that dimpled his cheeks. His memories of the previous day came rushing back to him, and he flushed, checking to make sure his research journal was closed. It wouldn't be the first time he'd fallen asleep face down on an open book. It was, thank the goddess.

“Here I am,” he responded after a moment, voice flat as his heartbeat returned to normal and exhaustion overtook adrenaline. His shoulders slumped, and then he put his head back down on the table with a thunk. He had no idea what time it was, but it felt entirely too early to be awakened in such a way (or any way, really). He glanced at Caspar out of the corner of his eye. It definitely had to be a new day, because Caspar had some new and creative bedhead. Not the worst of Caspar’s appearance-based sins over the years, and Linhardt was hardly one to talk, being a master of bedhead-at-any-time-of-day himself, but it was a good enough place to start.

“You missed the lecture,” Caspar was telling him, his voice warm and fast paced as always, “I was gonna bring you the notes but I forgot to take any. But I think Dorothea has some. Petra took like six pages but I don’t know if she took them in a language we can read, you know, so I didn’t ask her.”

Linhardt nodded slowly, his cheek squished against one arm. Notes. Lecture. Ah yes. He would probably get in trouble for that, but that wasn’t the point; it meant that this was at least afternoon. Probably around lunchtime, if Caspar was saying he’d missed only one lecture rather than several. Well, no matter. He had something more important to do.

“Sure, I’ll ask her,” he said, and then sat up slightly and reached up to pat down Caspar’s hair. “Did you know you have the most horrendous bedhead today?” he asked him, voice curious. He watched him to gauge his reaction, feeling the pleasant sensation of Caspar’s short hair against his fingertips.

Sure enough, Caspar’s face reddened, but he didn’t jerk away like last time Linhardt had touched him. “What about you?” he demanded, indignant, clapping his palm onto the top of Linhardt’s head in retaliation, “yours is worse! You’ve been sleeping all day!” 

_Defensiveness,_ Linhardt thought, through the feeling of Caspar’s fingers threading into his hair as Caspar wiggled his fingers, like his hand was some sort of weird spider that was trying to lay eggs. Is that a point in embarrassment’s favor? It was hard to tell.

He retrieved his hand with a sigh, and put his face down on the cool tabletop again, which pulled his own head from Caspar's grasp. He expected Caspar to shout at him again, or try to grab his head again, relentless as ever, but no sound came. After a moment, he glanced up at him, and Caspar was staring at him with an unreadable expression, rubbing his fingers together. His blush had yet to fade.

“What?” Linhardt asked bluntly, and Caspar jumped.

“Nothing! It’s just, your hair’s soft.” The second he spoke, Caspar’s blush darkened, and he clenched his fist. “It’s nothing! You gotta start coming to class. Or else. So there.”

Caspar was never the most eloquent of people, but that was stilted sounding even for him. Linhardt waved a hand in the air, dismissing his words. “Sure, alright. I’ll be there this afternoon.”

“You better!” And with that Caspar turned on his heel and fled.

Hm. Interesting. A comment on physical aspects seemed like attraction, actually. Linhardt rested his own hand on top of his head, but his hair didn’t feel soft or un-soft. It just felt like hair. 

Well. No researcher worth their salt would give up after just one test. A healthy bank of data was needed to draw accurate conclusions. Linhardt yawned and opened his notebook again, rolling his pen between his fingertips. It was time to plan his next move.

…

Linhardt didn’t expect that being helpful-- even for the sake of research-- would be so exhausting. It’s not like he never helped Caspar with things, but honestly Caspar got by just fine on his own most of the time, and trying to pre-empt that with things to fluster him was hard and annoying. However, his efforts had born fruit, so he supposed his labor had not been in vain. It had been a week and Linhardt had been able to add to his list of things that flustered Caspar. Most notably:

_ -Correcting his form in practice, such as suggesting he widen his stance or watch his shoulder movement; also has a marked effect on his performance in class somehow _

_ -Healing even his bumps and bruises after practice, not just serious injuries as would be expected _

_ -Re-tying his necktie _

That last had been such a resounding success that Linhardt hadn’t even dared to try it a second time. He wasn’t sure either of them would survive it. He’d actually been awake that morning, and had stopped Caspar in the front hall, pointing out that there was something wrong with his necktie (there wasn’t) and reaching to untie it. Caspar had stood there, still as stone and staring up at him with wide eyes while Linhardt untied it, fixed his collar for good measure-- (the way Caspar had swallowed when Linhardt’s knuckles grazed the underside of his jaw-- it could not be quantified in his notes in a way that captured the significance) and then retied it, exactly as it had been before. Well, maybe even a little messier. He never had been good at fashion. 

Anyway, Caspar had bolted off down the hall, screeching something about them being late. It had been a thrilling experience, and put a huge check mark in the column of Caspar’s problem being an unfortunate crush.

Linhardt had seen crushes, of course. He saw the way Edelgard hung onto their teacher’s every word like a lifeline. He saw the way Dorothea alternately teased and coddled Petra, and the way boys waited outside the lecture room for Dorothea every day-- a new boy every time. Now that seemed even more exhausting.

Crushes, all in all, seemed a lot of bother. He wondered what was kinder-- to speak with Caspar about his crush once he was certain, and hope that clearing the air would allow him to let it go? To indulge whatever level of physical contact Caspar desired, so he would let go of his feelings faster? The thought was tempting, but he wasn’t sure if he was ready for wherever Caspar’s no-doubt hormone riddled brain might lead the two of them.

Well, there was no need to worry about it-- at least not until he’d completed his experiment and drawn his conclusions. Maybe Caspar’s ill advised feelings, if that’s what they were, would go away on their own.

As it was, he thought he had enough results on Caspar's reactions to being helped in front of others. All of his tests-- except for the bedhead incident, which had been an impulse-- had occurred in front of several of their classmates. Now he had to test Caspar's reactions to physical contact, and to gather as much varied data as possible, these next few trials would occur when it was just the two of them. 

As he started to draft a list of ways he could try to touch and fluster Caspar, Linhardt shielded his paper from any wandering eyes with one hand, even though he was once again alone in the library. It wasn't just that this experiment required secrecy to succeed; even for him, some of the things he was writing down were a little bit embarrassing. He thought about holding his hand, about Caspar's wrist tendons tensing within his grasp, about Caspar's sharp shoulders and the dimples on his cheeks. He thought about the way Caspar held his waist when they'd learned to dance from an instructor their fathers hired for just that purpose a few years back-- had Caspar acted oddly then?

No, this must be a new development, like the way sweat ran down the nape of his neck into his uniform shirt when they trained in the afternoon. At least, that had to be new. Linhardt would have noticed otherwise. 

With a start, Linhardt realized his notes were growing ever more nonsensical and he frowned, laying down his pen. He needed a solid plan, not a list of things he'd spent the past week noticing about Caspar. This wasn't telling him anything. He needed to focus. 

He turned the page and furrowed his brow, starting a new page. He had to take this seriously. His friend's feelings were at stake, after all.  
  



	3. Second Test

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll try to get the last few chapters out quickly, although they might be a bit slower because there's more ground to cover! Also sorry about the sort of angst creeping in at the end there?

Linhardt wasn’t sure he’d ever been in Caspar’s room at the monastery. Well, that wasn’t true; technically the room he lived in was Caspar’s to begin with. They’d put Linhardt upstairs with the supposedly more important nobles, but he’d whined about the stairs enough on the first day and obviously envied Caspar’s more convenient room placement to the point where the two of them had swapped in their first week. Since then, Linhardt hadn’t been up there, and when the two of them were in the dorms, they spent most of their time in Linhardt’s room.

That made it the perfect location for the next stage of the plan.

Linhardt appreciated the way Caspar invited himself over, showing up without Linhardt needing to concoct some reason for him to do so. It allowed him to save the majority of his energy for The Plan.

The plan was this; touch Caspar a handful of times throughout the conversation, as casually as possible, and note his reaction. It seemed simple enough. Linhardt had spent the past few days skulking around the monastery observing couples and recording what constituted a Romantic Touch. It seemed that mood and intent mattered as much as the actual physical location of touch, but he couldn’t do anything about that. He had to work with what he had.

Despite such limitations, the evening started well enough. Linhardt curled up on the bed with several volumes he’d been meaning to break into (he was really behind on his non-Caspar related research). Caspar took his desk chair, straddling it backwards, which was probably something he’d seen one of the other guys do and thought it looked cool, because Linhardt didn’t remember him doing it before. He decided not to embarrass him by pointing it out, although he wished Caspar had just joined him on the bed. That would have been easier, but somehow the idea of asking him to come over and sit with him was just more embarrassing than it was worth.

His restless current mood warred with his lazy nature as he idly played with the pages of the book, head leaning against the wall as he listened to Caspar ramble. He didn’t keep very abreast of social happenings in the monastery at the best of times, and he’d been so enraptured with his current project that he was totally in the dark now. Luckily, Caspar seemed determined to catch him up on the various events over the past two weeks, mostly filtered through his favorite topic, which was who had recently fought who. Right now he was relaying, in glowing detail, how Ferdinand had challenged Edelgard to another inane competition (fencing, apparently) and how she’d trounced him within seconds. Caspar got so excited about the retelling that he leaped to his feet, knocking over the chair and acting out the finishing blow for him. 

“Whoosh! Clang! His sword flew over there! She leaned in like this! And then she was like…” Caspar dropped his voice low, trying to sound serious and intense in his best imitation of Edelgard, “‘do not trouble me unless you intend to put up an actual challenge.’ It was so cool!”

“I see,” Linhardt replied, his uninterested words betrayed by an amused tone. Watching Caspar’s interpretation of the events was probably more fun than actually watching the duel would have been. 

“You should’ve been there! I think you were in the library?” Caspar flopped down to sit on the edge of the bed, and Linhardt tried not to grin. Success! “You’ve been real busy, actually, I guess you found something interesting?”

“You could say that,” Linhardt murmured, setting his book down and scooting a little closer. What should he try first? Holding hands? Was it possible to do that casually? Caspar glanced his direction and then blinked, looking at him like it had just occurred to him.

“Actually… you’ve been kind of weird lately…” Caspar ventured, and then bit his lip like maybe he shouldn’t have said anything. Linhardt tried to resist the urge to pull out his notebook and write a note about Caspar biting his lip. It seemed important somehow. Instead, he tried to commit the image to memory. 

“Weird?” he asked after a moment, feigning innocence. Damn, he’d been really obvious if even Caspar had picked up on it. He’d have to scale it back. He could still complete the experiment, but he’d have to stretch his tests out over more time, so it seemed like less of a pattern. 

“Yeah,” Caspar was saying, and he looked down at his knees, puffing out his cheeks for a moment. “It’s like, you’re trying to do all this stuff for me? I dunno, it feels like you’re worried about me or something.”

Oh. 

Linhardt opened his mouth to reply, but Caspar was off like a wild horse, rambling again. “I mean, that’s crazy, I know you don’t like to worry about anything! But you’re like right there all the time when I train now, and I kinda like it, but I don’t know what to think, you know?” He shot a glance in Linhardt’s direction, but didn’t hold his gaze.

“Ah,” Linhardt said, to buy himself time. “Well. That’s.” _Hold his hand!_ The plan-oriented part of his brain shrieked, and in his confusion he obeyed, reaching out to place his hand on top of where Caspar’s was clenched tight into a fist. Caspar jolted like he’d shocked him. “I enjoy it too,” he said finally, and he could tell his voice was unnaturally stiff, but he didn’t want to give the experiment away! He wasn’t done with it! It seemed to be enough though, because Caspar’s face broke into a wide, sunny grin, and he relaxed his fist, turning his hand over to thread their fingers together.

“Great!” he said, “Awesome!” He squeezed Linhardt’s fingers, and Linhardt fought the desire to snatch his hand back. What was going on? He was losing control of the experiment! He wriggled his fingers free from their interlocked position, but kept hold of Caspar’s hand, fingertips exploring the joints and pads of Caspar’s fingers. Caspar’s hand was smaller than his, with blunt tipped fingers and short ragged nails. Of course he’d seen his hands almost every day now, but it was one thing to see and quite another to feel things like the callus on his thumb from holding his axe. 

Caspar was staring at their joined hands too like it was the most amazing thing he’d ever seen, his blush rising from his cheeks up to the tips of his ears. 

_It’s a crush,_ Linhardt concluded in his mental notebook, right under the extensive notes about the fact that Caspar’s ears blushed too. It has to be. He could do more testing, sure, it was never a bad idea to be certain, but his other theory, that Caspar was embarrassed, no longer held water. 

Caspar liked it when he helped him. Bubbles fizzed in his stomach, and he fought to keep a smug smile off his face. Everything else Linhardt had planned for his tests flew out of his head, and he cast around for any change of topic. He couldn’t take this tension.

“You didn’t finish telling me about the duel,” he said finally. “What did Ferdinand say in response?” Knowing Ferdinand, surely he’d said _something_. 

“Oh!” Caspar’s hand twitched like a startled animal, and he launched back into his story. His hand shifted position to stroke his thumb across Linhardt’s knuckles, and he seemed utterly content, although his cheeks remained a soft shade of pink for a good while yet.

  
  


…

Linhardt woke slowly, light sneaking in through a crack in the curtains. It seemed to be early morning, as far as he could tell. A light snore from behind him made him jump, but then he remembered; Caspar in his room last night, talking his ear off, and how eventually Linhardt had fallen asleep to the sound of his incessant chatter. It seemed Caspar had decided to stay the night, which shouldn’t shock him as much as it did; they’d had sleepovers before as children, after all. And yet, a childish sleepover was one thing; his best friend snuggled against his back, arms warm around his waist and breath puffing against his neck was another. Linhardt shivered, then lowered a hand to where Caspar’s hands were interlocked in front of him. Once again his fingertips brushed against the scraped knuckles and strong fingers. He had to talk to him.

A crush, he understood, was a temporary thing. It surely was brought on by teenage hormones, or being away from home, or… Linhardt frowned as he considered the possibility that he’d encouraged the crush as part of his testing. Was that what Caspar meant, when he’d said he’d been acting weird? Was he making him think that he had a chance?   


Well, and what if he did? Was it really so bad, if they were to do things like hold hands while talking, or fall asleep together like this? Here at the monastery felt like a peaceful bubble separate from reality, where this sort of thing didn’t matter. Would anyone care? Would anyone even notice?

Of course, they were here for just one year. Just one year, and then Caspar was off to be a knight and join the imperial army, and Linhardt had to go back home and start learning to take on his father’s work, start learning to work with Caspar’s older brother, who was a bully and threw his strength around in a way Caspar never would. He’d probably have to marry a woman and produce heirs to inherit his family’s title…

The future had always felt exhausting to consider, but never had it made such bile rise in his throat. His face twisted, and he drew in a breath… and was distracted by a murmur from behind him. 

Caspar mumbled unintelligibly in his sleep, pressing his face against the bare nape of Linhardt’s neck. What kind of face would he make when Linhardt laid out the facts about the ill-fated nature of his silly little crush? He should know better. He should have known not to indulge such feelings.

He was no longer sure he was talking about just Caspar.

Despite the reason for Linhardt’s turmoil, Caspar’s slow breathing steadied him, and he was able to push away his worries. He wasn’t about to wake him, anyway, so there was no reason to worry about it until morning at least.

Carefully, Linhardt turned in his arms to face him, and was rewarded with the sight of Caspar snoring softly, drooling into his pillow. Disgusting. A fond smile crossed his face, and he brushed the backs of his fingers against Caspar’s soft cheek. Caspar’s only reaction was to tighten his grasp around Linhardt’s waist, scooting closer to nuzzle against his soft sleep shirt. It was surprisingly cute, coming from him, but Linhardt was having trouble being surprised by such things anymore. 

He buried his noise in Caspar’s short bristly hair and inhaled the familiar Caspar-scent, utterly indescribable but unmistakable. The familiarity soothed him, and within minutes he was able to drift back into sleep, the darkness soft and comforting as it always was. 


	4. Peer Review

Caspar was gone when he woke up, which suited Linhardt just fine. As comforting and warm as it had been to sleep in his arms, he didn’t feel like dealing with his flustered stammering in the morning. It would have been useful material for his experiment a couple of days ago, but now Caspar’s cute reactions felt less like exciting data and more like nails in the coffin at this point.

Simply put, Linhardt was feeling cranky.

Judging by the position of the sun and the hunger growling in his stomach, he’d slept through breakfast, and probably morning lecture as well. Was it… the end of the week? Was he on stable duty? He couldn’t remember. He dragged himself from bed and spent the bare minimum of time switching into a theoretically clean but slightly wrinkled uniform and flattening his hair, and it was then that he found a little note scrawled on a half sheet of paper and left on his desk.

_Don’t miss lunch, sleepy head!_ It said in Caspar’s sloppy and familiar handwriting, accompanied with a frankly terrible doodle of a smiling face. There was a scribble above that-- Linhardt squinted at it, and felt his stomach sink. Caspar had drawn a little heart above the smily face, and then scribbled it out, apparently thinking it was too much. It was. What was he going to do with him? 

He stuck the note in his research journal, and halfheartedly updated his findings from the other night. What was it again? Caspar’s blushing ears, him biting his lip as if he could keep the words in that way, and… the certainty that it was a crush. Writing the conclusion made his heart stutter, but it didn’t tell him what to do next. He could just pretend he didn’t know, right? But after last night, that felt impossible. Even Caspar would realize something was up if he just pretended last night didn’t happen.

Whatever. He thought about not going to lunch, but his stomach growled again, and he thought he’d better, or Caspar might show up to come get him. He’d rather face him in the crowded dining hall than here alone in his bedroom. So he set off towards the dining hall, trying not to glower at everyone he passed. He couldn’t help it. He just felt like he had a thunderstorm in his chest, thunder rumbling and pressure growing in his skull.

He was late. Caspar was just leaving as he came in, and when he saw him his face lit up and he stopped in the doorway, grabbing Linhardt’s hand. He was blocking everyone from coming in and out this particular door, but seemed oblivious to the glares being sent his way. “I gotta go do drills with Ferdinand,” he said breathlessly, “but I’ll see you in class?” 

His expression was so hopeful, and all that Linhardt could say back was “Okay,” voice dull. Caspar didn’t seem to notice, however, and he just squeezed his hand, leaned in a bit-- for a moment Linhardt was terrified he’d kiss him, on the cheek or worse, but he just grinned, let go, and then scurried off down the hall.

Ugh.

Linhardt barely paid attention to lunch, and made it to the library somehow. He needed a new plan, something that would help Caspar get over him as quickly as possible. Something that would put things back to how they were before. He set his stuff down at his table, pulled out his pen, and his…

Huh… where was his research journal? He checked in his bag again, shaking out all of his books in case it had gotten shoved in between the pages or something. Nothing. Frantically, he checked everything again. Just as he was doing so, Ignatz entered the library, crossing to one of the far shelves, but Linhardt hardly noticed.

Maybe he’d left the book in here the other day? He started to search through the books on the tabletop. The flurry of activity-- a flurry of anything being unusual for Linhardt to begin with-- attracted Ignatz’s attention, who looked over at him with a small frown.

Linhardt struggled to even out his voice as he said, “Have you seen my research journal by any chance? It’s about this big, and it has a blue cover?” He gestured with his hands. Ignatz shook his head.

“Sorry, I’ll ask around though,” he replied, and turned back to the shelf. Linhardt nodded, feeling a bit hollow.

It’s not like he needed the data contained within. Most of the information in the notebook was things he’d be unable to forget even if he tried-- and he might need to try soon. He just didn’t like the feeling of losing something so important to him.

Well, knowing how the professor was, they’d probably show up with it in a couple of days, but knowing that didn’t make him feel any better. Numbly, without even thinking about it too much, he went to class. 

Caspar beamed at him from across the room when he entered, and Linhardt raised his eyebrows at him, trying not to look too flustered by the sudden attention. Caspar was always happy to see him, but this was a whole new level. Urgh. He had to get this over with.

After class was practice, and then there was some free time before dinner. Linhardt went to bathe first, getting rid of all the sweat and grime from practice and hoping it would relax him somewhat. It didn’t, but it was worth a try.

Caspar was in his room when he got back. He was standing in the center of the room, staring at a book in his hands. He still had a streak of mud down one cheek and smelled of sweat-- he’d obviously come straight here instead of cleaning up after practice.

When Linhardt entered, Caspar turned to look at him, his eyes wide and wet, and it was then that he realized that the book Caspar was holding was his research journal. 

Linhardt felt himself go cold.

He’d seen Caspar cry three times in his life. The first had been when they were seven and were playing in the stables. An unexpected thunderstorm had startled the horses, and Linhardt, who had fallen asleep in the hay, had awoken to the sound of a crack of thunder, the horses panicking, and the feeling of Caspar diving into his haypile. His new (at the time) friend had locked his little arms around his waist and buried his face in his shoulder, trembling like a leaf. When the storm had subsided, Caspar’s eyes were red from tears.

The second had been when they were nine. Caspar had fallen out of a tree he was trying to climb, and when he’d sat up, his arm was bent all wrong. The sight had made Linhardt’s stomach lurch, and he remembered Caspar gasping from the pain, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes. That had been the first time Linhardt’s crest had manifested, as he’d rushed to put his lessons into action and heal him. 

The third… they’d been twelve, and Caspar had fought with his father. Linhardt still didn’t know what had been said, but he’d been unable to do anything that time, just sat shoulder to shoulder with his friend as he buried his face in his knees, trying not to sob.

Outside of those three times Linhardt had never seen Caspar so much as shed a tear, even from injuries during training, even while squabbling with his brother. As he stared in horror at Caspar’s stricken face, he wondered if he was about to see him cry a fourth time. And this time it would be because of him.

“You looked at my notes,” he said, just to confirm. His face felt numb. 

“I-- Ignatz said you lost ‘em, and I thought I’d seen them in here last night, and I wanted to make sure I was right before I said something-- you were just messing with me!” Caspar gasped out the last phrase, sounding betrayed.

Linhardt’s heart was pounding. “Your reaction was abnormal. I had to know.” Caspar was never supposed to find out! This was all wrong.

“You-- all of this-- everything you did was just a dumb experiment!” Caspar’s voice was getting squeaky, and yet tears still had yet to fall. Still, every word stabbed into Linhardt like a knife. “I thought you liked me!”

Oh.

Well. Linhardt didn’t have an answer to that. 

Maybe this was inevitable. Not this, specifically, but he’d known Caspar would have to get over his crush somehow. It could either be long and painful or quick and tearful, he supposed. Like taking a bandage off quickly rather than prolonging the pain.

“I was curious,” he told him, and even to his own ears, his voice sounded callous. “But you have to understand, we can’t do this.”

Caspar stared at him for several long seconds, and then threw the notebook down. “Fine! Sorry for being so _stupid_, I guess!” And he stomped from the room, leaving Linhardt hollow and frozen behind him.

In the silence of the room, Linhardt took a deep breath, and then crossed to where the research journal lay on the floor. He smoothed out the pages, and then set it on his desk. This had to happen. Caspar would be mad at him for a few days, and then things would go back to normal.

He should be happy about this outcome, but for some reason his heart felt raw and sore, the way his limbs did after he did any kind of physical activity. He shuffled to the bed and lay down, hoping to sleep it off. Surely everything would look better in the morning-- or tomorrow afternoon, or tomorrow evening. He had no idea how much sleep would be needed to forget the sight of Caspar’s tearfilled eyes, but he had to try.


	5. Conclusive Results

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Here's the final chapter. I had a lot of fun writing this so I hope you guys enjoy it. A quick note, regarding something that came up a bit last chapter and comes up a bit in this one; my current headcanon for how Gay Things work in fe3h is that gay marriage is considered basically fine for commoners, a bit eccentric for the nobility, mildly frowned upon for inheriting nobles, and highly frowned upon for those who have to pass on crests to strengthen bloodlines & keep positions/inheritance in the family. This is based on the fact that:  
1\. there are endings (mostly with byleth) that are literal gay marriage and no one seems to have a problem with it  
2\. however, the need to marry & arranged marriages are discussed with several characters  
3\. nobles seem to adopt children fairly often (there are a few students with that in their background) so I assume if a noble was gay they could just adopt a kid as their heir? But then crests would complicate that.
> 
> I hope this makes sense! Thank you for reading this far.

He didn’t sleep well that night. The experience wasn’t wholly new to Linhardt; because he often slept during the day, he often would spend the nights researching and studying, and then fall asleep in the early hours of the morning. But no research was keeping him up this night; he had no desire to stay up and read or pore over diagrams. He just wanted to sleep and think about nothing for awhile.

When he did sleep his dreams were murky and unclear, full of words unsaid and misremembered. He woke once certain that what had happened had been a dream, and once his mind was coherent enough to remember that it had been real after all, spent the next few minutes furiously trying to go back to sleep. 

When he awoke for good his mouth was dry and his head ached. Every muscle in his body felt as if it was made of a useless sludge, and his eyelids stuck together, gummed up and crusty from sleep. When he opened the door to peer out, grumbling under his breath, the pink sky behind the Goddess Tower suggested it was evening. This wasn’t his first time sleeping the whole day away, but usually his prolonged naps had been due to feeling peaceful and lazy, and he had woken up feeling rested rather than brittle and achey. 

He should probably eat. 

He stumbled to the dining hall, ending up with a plate of something-- it was hard to focus on what it was or how it tasted, his head filled with an annoying buzzing. At some point he saw Dorothea and Petra come in through the doors that opened onto the gardens, and when she saw him she raised her eyebrows and said something to Petra. Neither of them came to speak to him. Linhardt put his head down on the table.

Over the next few days Linhardt devised a strategy; if he took extra food from the dining hall every other day or so when he did venture out and then stored it in his room, he barely ever had to leave. He found he was eating less anyway, which also saved him trips.

That would be great news, if he was making progress in his research, but he really wasn’t. Mostly, he was moping and sleeping even more than usual. He kept half-heartedly checking the schedule, but actually attending class seemed entirely unappealing. He had the vague sort of idea that he was doing Caspar a favor, giving him time to get over the whole situation before inflicting his presence on him again. Caspar was a horrible actor. If things weren’t fine, he would be unable to pretend that they were, and Linhardt didn’t feel like dealing with the fallout of their classmates all trying to find out what had happened.

It was on one of his secretive little food runs-- he tried for odd times, when the dining hall would be as empty as possible-- that two figures stepped from the shadows to corner him, and he came face to face with Edelgard’s determined expression. Behind her stood Hubert, arms crossed. 

“Ah, Edelgard. The two of you are out late. On a relaxing evening stroll?” His voice sounded cracked from disuse to his own ears, and he frowned. 

Hubert scowled back, radiating an aura of disapproval, as if he did not think this conversation worth his time. Linhardt supposed he was unwilling to let Edelgard walk alone in the monastery this late in the evening, which seemed foolish to him; their house leader was one of the most dangerous people he knew. Even now she seemed to be trying to intimidate him, stepping close with her hands on her hips and a glare directed up at him. 

“You haven’t been to class in a week. Care to explain?” she asked, voice cold. 

Ah. He wondered if the professor had sent her, or if she had come of her own accord. Perhaps he could figure it out, but he was also too taken aback by the news that it had been a week. He’d thought maybe two or three days had passed. It was hard to keep track of time when he was spending most of his time sleeping, though, so he supposed it made sense. 

“I’ve been busy with my own areas of interest,” he said, with an exaggerated stretch. He wondered if she could tell he was lying. Perhaps that was Hubert’s superpower, and they had some sort of secret hand signal where he could communicate such to her. That would be fun. He could imagine them using that when interrogating a captive. Luckily, he was not captive, and he turned to go. 

“Oh, I thought it might have been the fight.” Her voice rang out behind him, and he paused, turning to look at her.

“The fight?” Was there another mock battle they were supposed to be preparing for? He thought the big one was months away, but who knew anymore. It’s not like he had any idea what was going on in the monastery right now.

Edelgard smirked the way she did when she knocked someone off their feet in training. She knew she had him.

She cupped her chin with one hand. “Rumor has it that you and Caspar have had a fight. But if that’s not true, then I don’t know why he’s acting so oddly… Well, at least he’s still coming to class, so I suppose you’re more of the issue right now.”

Linhardt glanced from her to Hubert and back again, as if one of them would explain further. “What do you mean, he’s acting oddly?” he asked, trying to keep his voice as neutral as possible. Everything that happened last week aside, Caspar was still his best friend. It made sense for him to be concerned about him. 

“He’s been quiet in class,” that made no sense. Caspar was never _quiet_. “And even more over the top in training. I feel as though he’s the reason we’ve gone through three training dummies this week. Does that sound right, Hubert?” 

Hubert inclined his head, as if he was loathe to correct her, but also could not lie. “I believe it has been four, Lady Edelgard.”

“Four! Well. It seems he’s become rather close with Dorothea as well,” Edelgard continued, “so perhaps you should speak with her, if there is some reason you can’t speak to him about it. Anyway, can I expect to see you in class tomorrow?”

Startled and confused by this, Linhardt nodded, and then immediately regretted it, as Edelgard nodded in return and turned on her heel, striding away briskly. Hubert followed, and Linhardt was left alone in the dark. 

Caspar. Quiet in class? Linhardt couldn’t even imagine it. Caspar acting oddly was what had started this whole mess, and here he was doing it again. Well, maybe Edelgard had misread. Maybe when he laid eyes on the situation he would understand it, with the full breadth of his Caspar expertise. Besides, he probably should go to class after all. Being caught while walking across the grounds was one thing, but he really didn’t want people to start coming to his room, his haven of peace, and trying to drag him out of it. No, he should probably make a token appearance in class. It was about time, anyway. 

…

He napped on and off that night, and just coincidentally happened to be awake around the time class started, so he thought he’d better go, just to see if it was still as boring as he remembered. The walk there almost took all of his energy, and he was surprised to find he was one of the first people there, as he slid into one of the benches near the back. Edelgard, excessively punctual as always, sent him an approving glance, and he stared back at her, dead-eyed. Linhardt was thinking about putting his head down on the table and getting a head start on his usual class time nap when, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a flash of bright blue. He shot up in his seat, head turning to see.

Caspar entered the classroom, side by side with Dorothea, who spotted him first. She blinked at him in astonishment, which made Caspar glance over as well. Then he froze, and Linhardt observed, his heart pounding, as Caspar’s face went red, all the way to the tips of his ears. It would have been cute, if his best friend wasn’t also glaring at him. For a moment he thought Caspar might bolt from the room, but then Dorothea put a hand on his shoulder, and seemed to be talking to him gently. 

She was being kind, but Linhardt frowned, and put his head down on the desk after all so he couldn’t see it. If things were right, Caspar would have bounded over to his desk to chatter in his ear, and then sit beside or in front of him, and Linhardt would sleep through half the lecture and then the two of them would get lunch and Linhardt would explain it to him anyway. Why did the path to go back to that seem so impossible?

He must have fallen asleep like that, grumpy and sullen, because when he woke up he had a crick in his neck and the classroom was quiet. He’d missed the entire lecture, despite being physically present for it. Great. 

He lifted his head, blinking in the darkness and rolling his shoulders-- and made eye contact with Dorothea, who was sitting on the bench next to him. 

“My, look who decided to show up,” Dorothea told him, her voice cheery, but with a steel beneath it he’d never quite heard directed at him.

“Despite appearances, I do actually go to school here,” he replied. 

Her smile dropped from her face. “Caspar told me what you did to him,” she said, “I knew you were a bit odd, but I thought you cared at least a little bit about him, at least.”

That stung. She’d only been Caspar’s new best bud for all of a week, and she was accusing him of not caring about him? That didn’t seem fair.

“I care about him,” Linhardt replied, and was surprised by the level of indignation that crept into his voice. 

Dorothea laughed. “You do? Because it sounds like you figured out he had a crush on you and when you didn’t feel the same, you decided to mess with him instead of letting him down nicely. That’s not something you normally do to someone you care about.”

Linhardt felt a bit like the conversation was spiraling out of control. What on earth had Caspar told her? Is that really what he thought had happened? “That’s one way of looking at it, I suppose,” he replied doubtfully. “I don’t have to explain myself to you, but he should have known better than to develop such feelings in the first place. He can marry whomever he likes. I-- I would never be allowed to--” Hm, his voice had cracked a little there. Concerning. 

Dorothea was looking at him, waiting for him to continue with an expression like she was trying to understand. Linhardt supposed he appreciated her empathy, when it was directed at him. “I wasn’t messing with him,” he said, recovering, “I was trying to understand. And now I do. I wasn’t _laughing_ at him.” 

Dorothea’s face changed, just a little, and he sensed that what he’d said had had an effect on her understanding of the situation. He hoped she hadn’t seen right through him, though. There were a few things he was hoping to keep to himself. Well, mostly the one thing. 

“I was going to say you should leave him alone for now, but that changes things. I think you should tell him, because he definitely thinks you were just playing with him,” she said carefully.

Linhardt frowned. Did Caspar really think so poorly of him? Casting his mind back, he couldn’t remember ever playing around with others feelings like that. People usually called him painfully direct; he didn’t really care enough about others enough to beat around the bush or string them along. And he cared about Caspar too much to do something like that. 

Dorothea looked at her nails, her face a portrait of practiced coolness. “I’m surprised to hear you say you’re not ‘allowed’ to do whatever, honestly. You’ve always seemed like someone who does whatever you please. Actually, I was under the impression you intended to give up your inheritance, which is why I’d crossed you off my list-- in addition to the fact that you’re much too young for me, of course.”

“Not interested, thank you,” Linhardt replied instantly, but he frowned, thinking about it. He thought of his father’s stern disapproval, about the way his mother had given up on him ever being a proper young nobleman when he was eleven, and how he’d never been able to earn her interest back after that. He wondered how many other people had the same impression that Dorothea did. Had he and Caspar ever talked about it? They talked about Caspar’s family situation often enough.

“Well, you should think about it,” she said. “I’m going to lunch. Unless something’s changed, Caspar’s probably skipping lunch to beat up the training dummy on the practice yard. You could bring him something?” Linhardt nodded, deep in thought, and Dorothea got up to go. He gave her a halfhearted little wave, and she chuckled as she left the classroom.

It had always been obvious that he didn’t belong here at the Officer’s Academy. He wondered if everyone else had figured out what he already knew; that attending here was buying time, delaying the inevitable. Or not so inevitable, maybe?

Linhardt clambered to his feet. He left his books and bag in the classroom, and wandered to the dining hall, still thinking about Dorothea’s words. They were serving those sweet buns they both liked, so Linhardt scooped a few onto a plate as a peace offering, and headed across the gardens and towards the stairs to the training yard.

He almost never came here, and as he climbed the stairs the stink of sweat hit him and he remembered why. He wrinkled his nose, and climbed higher.

He heard Caspar before he saw him, doing that stupid thing where he yelled and screeched to herald each blow. He felt a swell of fondness in his chest, almost fought it, and then decided not to. That was what had gotten them into this mess, wasn’t it?

Caspar came into view as he turned the corner, and he was fighting with his gauntlets today, tearing into the training dummy, then leaping back, and then launching himself at it again. He looked like a tiny force of destruction, whirling around and howling at the top of his lungs. Linhardt watched for a moment, then set the plate of buns down on one of the small tables lining the room.

“Caspar,” he said, and when that got no response, he raised his voice a little. “Caspar.”

This time Caspar twitched a little, and glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. Then he threw himself at the training dummy again, the sharp claws on the gauntlet digging deep into the leather. His movements were different now, less wild and unrestrained. Did he really think Linhardt couldn’t tell the difference? 

“I completed my experiment,” he said, and Caspar’s shoulders shot up around his ears. 

He took another swipe at the training dummy, and then paused long enough to say, “_Fuck_ your experiment.”

Well. That was fair. “Not many people are willing to listen to my discuss my research,” Linhardt told him, “I’ve always been lucky that you’re here to listen, even if you’re not interested, and you don’t always understand.”

Caspar choked a laugh, and executed a somewhat fancy roll and dive to the side, as if avoiding an attack. Still not looking at him, he sprang up at what would probably be the training dummy’s back, theoretically, and as he struck he gritted out, “I dunno if I feel like hearing about it this time.”

“I’d really like it if you’d hear me out,” Linhardt said mildly, stepping closer. He knew Caspar’s attack patterns. He waited until the exact moment, and then stepped into the formation, putting himself between Caspar’s next hit and the training dummy. Caspar diverted his blow mid-strike, his gauntlet sailing past Linhardt’s shoulder with room to spare. 

The two of them stared at each other, Caspar breathing hard and with sweat running down his forehead, Linhardt with his face impassive but his heart hammering, both hands folded behind his back. They were too close, but neither stepped back. 

He’d start with that.

“Elevated heart rate,” Linhardt said, “a reddened face. Prolonged staring. Only one conclusion can be drawn from these symptoms.” 

Caspar’s face twisted. “Okay already! I thought we already went over how dumb and obvious my feelings are.” 

Linhardt hated the disgust in Caspar’s voice, how mad at himself he sounded, but they could work on that. “I’m not talking about your feelings,” he told him, “I’m talking about mine. It’s important to examine all the data, even if the conclusion isn’t one you ever expected.”

Caspar’s jaw dropped, and his eyes almost seemed to bug out of his head as he stared up at him. It wasn’t his most handsome look, but it was one that Linhardt was familiar with and fond of. The light blush on his cheeks only enhanced it.

“I need to apologize, Caspar,” he told him, “I was so caught up in what was going on with you that I didn’t realize my curiosity was not strictly platonic in nature. I was--”

Caspar cut him off by jumping at him, not unlike how he’d jumped at the training dummy (although thankfully without intent to injure and without all the hollering). His face crashed against Linhardt’s, and it wasn’t a kiss as much as it was the… face version of a headbutt. It was so hard and so sudden that both of them collapsed to the ground. Undeterred, Caspar scrambled into his lap and threw his arms around his neck, and his second try was a lot more accurate and a lot less painful. 

He kissed him with a furious intensity that Linhardt had no way of matching, so he didn’t try, instead letting Caspar guide them clumsily through the learning experience. This worked fine up until he felt a sharp tug on his hair, and he jerked back from the kiss, remarking, “Ow.”

“Ugh! It’s my gauntlet, it’s stuck,” Caspar muttered, face sheepish, his mouth looking pleasantly red and wet from kissing. He pulled on it, and the pain shot through Linhardt’s skull again.

“Okay, stop. Take that off,” Linhardt demanded, reaching behind him to try to disentangle the gauntlet’s claws, or unbuckle it from Caspar’s hand. “How do you do this when you’ve got both on,” he wondered, locating the buckle.

“There’s kind of a trick to it,” Caspar told him, waving his other gauntlet. Linhardt immediately made him take that one off too, and then tossed both of them halfheartedly at the wall. 

They both caught their breath, Caspar still kneeling between Linhardt’s legs. He had wormed his arms back around his shoulders once his hands were gauntlet free. After a moment, he tipped his head back up to Linhardt hopefully, as if asking for more kissing, and Linhardt put a hand over his mouth.

“No. I have more to say, you surprised me. Besides, I’d rather continue somewhere that smells less of sweat.”

“I’m probably gonna stink even if we go somewhere else,” Caspar warned him as the two clambered to their feet. He retrieved the plate of buns, and Linhardt bit back the reply that the smell of a sweaty Caspar was much different than smelling everyone else’s stale sweat. That was too much, too fast, he felt. Caspar kicked his gauntlets a little more towards the wall, but cleaning them up was future Caspar’s problem. He turned to him with a grin. “Okay, let’s go!”

His hands were full with the plate, so Linhardt put an arm around his waist instead, drawing him in to kiss him on the forehead. The full body shiver he got in response was the definition of rewarding. “Alright,” he replied, and the two of them retreated outside.

…

It didn’t take long to find a quiet corner of the gardens, a comfortable area in the shade of a hedge to sit and eat. As they munched, Linhardt explained the circumstances of the test in detail. Caspar, oddly, seemed to find this embarrassing for some reason, and kept groaning and protesting as Linhardt relayed the various things he’d tried and how intriguing he’d found Caspar’s reactions. He was sweating almost as much when he’d been training.

It was fun to watch, but soon the mood grew more quiet and contemplative. 

“I apologize for upsetting you,” Linhardt said. At some point he’d flopped down to lay on the grass, arms folded behind his head. Caspar peered down at him, still eating. “I… well, it occurs to me I may not want to inherit my father’s position after all.”

Caspar choked, then hastily swallowed. “Oh for real? Wanna become a knight with me--”

“Absolutely not,” Linhardt said immediately, tone firm. “But those can’t be the only two options.” It really was troublesome, that living required money for food and a place to sleep. If he could hide away with his books and his research and with Caspar--

He closed his eyes, face warming. Thinking so honestly about such things was still a bit embarrassing. Besides, he couldn’t imagine Caspar doing anything resembling ‘hiding away’. 

“If I don’t have to produce heirs and pass on my family’s crest and bloodline, then it appears my options for who I’d like to spend my life with really open up,” he mused, and he heard Caspar go “Oh!”

It seemed like both of them were waiting for the other to continue, and that soon lapsed into what felt like comfortable silence, the only noise the rustle of leaves and the sound of birds.

He heard Caspar clear his throat. “Did you fall asleep?” His voice was quiet, as if he didn’t want to wake him if he did.

Linhardt laughed, but didn’t open his eyes. “No, Caspar. Just thinking. If you’re done eating, I’d like it if you’d kiss me again.”

There was a second of silence, and then a shuffling sound, and then nothing. Linhardt opened his eyes, only to find Caspar's face inches away, sitting next to him and leaning down with an intense expression. He snorted with laughter.

“Hey!” Caspar yelped, “It’s just, now that I’m thinking about it, I can’t remember how I did it?” 

“You’re overthinking it,” Linhardt told him-- something he never thought he’d say to Caspar-- and spread his arms. “Lay down. It’ll be more comfortable.” 

Face aflame, Caspar first propped himself over Linhardt, knees in the grass and hands on either side of his head, but that didn’t seem comfortable at all, so Linhardt wrapped his arms around him and pulled him down on top of him. Caspar squeaked, but relaxed into him after a moment. He was surprisingly light. Linhardt could feel Caspar’s heart hammering away, and he smiled fondly, closing his eyes. He just held him like that for a few seconds, and then Caspar started to squirm.

“I thought we were going to kiss?” he complained, shifting around. Linhardt let him do it, too content to open his eyes, waiting. Finally, he felt Caspar’s breath on his cheek, and then he kissed him. This kiss was less desperate, slower and more exploratory, and Linhardt felt a wave of contentedness sweep over him. Caspar’s hand moved to cup his cheek, directing the kiss deeper, and he voiced his approval with a happy little hum. He wondered if Caspar remembered they were still outside in the gardens and that any of their classmates or teachers could happen across them at any moment, but he wasn’t going to be the one to tell him.

Eventually Caspar broke away and buried his face in his neck, apparently overwhelmed. “Just-- no more weird secret experiments, okay?”

Linhardt nodded. “I promise. There are things I want to try with you, of course, and I’ll never stop being fascinated by your reactions to things, but it won’t be a secret ever again. Is that alright?” As he spoke he rubbed a hand down Caspar’s spine, and Caspar’s breathing stuttered.

“Yeah! That’s fine, I guess.” Linhardt wondered if he knew what he’d agreed to. It didn’t matter. What mattered now was that they kept talking about it, kept discussing what they wanted and what that looked like, and maybe one day he’d be able to figure out what kind of future he’d like to have at Caspar’s side. For now, what he wanted right now was to sleep, in the dappled sunshine and with Caspar’s breath on his neck. And unlike it had been for the past few days, as he drifted off to sleep, he found only peace and happiness in his dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey thanks for reading! I'm excited to write even more for these two, but there's a couple of ideas I'm playing around with & I'm not sure what people are interested in? So I thought I'd make a curiouscat if people want to. Send prompts/requests. I can't promise I'll get to all of them and there are certain things I probably won't write, but I thought it could be fun. https://curiouscat.me/galacticmint1
> 
> Thanks!


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